


blood, wine, and cases

by heyitsbabz



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Crack Treated Seriously, Established Relationship, Found Family, M/M, Mutual Pining, enemies to best friends, fluff and eventual smut baby!, referring to yenn and jaskier, two bros chilling in an office no feet apart cause they are gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:53:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26704012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyitsbabz/pseuds/heyitsbabz
Summary: “Julian, criminal justice isn’t your field of expertise.”“I know, I know, but I’ve been stuck doing the boring civil stuff,” Jaskier doesn’t allow the whine to sneak into his voice, but he sees Geralt smirk from the corner of his eye. Bastard. “I’ve done enough criminal cases that it would be gratuitous to keep me off this because I haven’t got much experience withmurdernecessarily. Besides, I need this excitement in my life lest I decide to stab someone out of boredom myself. That someone, might I add, regretfully being your insolent son. Let me do it, please.”OR alternatively: the one where they’re all lawyers who are just a tiny bit more competent than one would expect.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, past Geralt/Yennefer - Relationship
Kudos: 16





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> hello! wow, okay, my first geraskier fic!!
> 
> I started writing this at the beginning of quarantine way back in march, right after I finished playing the blood and wine expansion pack on witcher 3 (god tier) while simultaneously binging boston legal (also god tier) and I thought: my god. boston legal... but make it witcher.
> 
> So, here we are! venturing into a new ship has me hyperventilating, but I hope you all enjoy it as much as I do while writing it :)

Everyone who knew him knew that, above all, Jaskier was a lover, his heart always picking and choosing people to love without much thought going into it. Most times, his relationships ended in mutual heartbreak, but damned be his muses if he didn’t get a good poem or song out of it.

He hadn’t faulted any of his lovers for anything, held no ill will towards them. He moved on like a wave pulled to shore and back out to the sea, an easy and playful stream of movement. Besides, Jaskier never stayed alone for too long either, always finding someone eager to be with him and share his love, equally passionate for a few weeks before their flames fizzled out to nothing but red embers.

By Melitele, this system worked for him until he met Geralt Rivia. 

His heart, the stupid thing, was set on this man the moment he saw him. Usually, if said man didn’t give any indication that he was interested, Jaskier would have shrugged, looked around for a minute at _most_ , and fallen in love with someone else. 

It’s just how he worked. He didn’t dwell on things, didn’t think about what ifs because they would break him and drive him mad, but with Geralt, well. Things were different. Very, very different.

It’s months in the making, beginning the moment Jaskier had started working at the firm, up until this pinnacle point in time. It escalated the longer he pestered Geralt with his presence, practically forcing his friendship upon the other man until even he couldn’t help but reluctantly accept him. 

They hung out together after hours, learned small things about the other, like how Geralt loves horses, but hates the beach; how he prefers cold coffee over warm, but would settle for tea if he had the choice; how he’s messier than Jaskier at keeping his place organized; how he doesn’t play any instruments because loud noises give him migraines.

 _Yikes,_ Jaskier had fondly replied to the last one. _That’s a dealbreaker. Time to wrap this friendship up!_

Geralt had laughed, and Jaskier just _knew_ he was fucked.

Little things like that are what made things worth it for him. When small tidbits of information were shared between them, it made Jaskier feel like he belonged. Being acquainted with Geralt seemed to make him tolerable at their firm, like it was an unspoken test that he had passed; a right of passage. At his last firm, everyone disliked him for being so loud and buoyant all the time, his attempts at befriending people falling flat despite his naturally likeable personality. 

That was alright, he thought, his friendship wasn’t for everyone. 

And really, it came as no surprise that Jaskier—a man who fell in love too hard, too fast, with literally anyone who shows him any form of common decency—would fall so hopelessly for his current boss’ son. 

Jaskier had been in love with Geralt since he met him, probably, but knew it after he watched him work a multiple homicide case and _win_. Geralt’s entire vibe in the courtroom involved calculative poise and facts; there was no room for failure and insecurity. He knew what he was doing, what he was saying, and he believed it. Or rather, he made it seem like he believed them. The man entranced everyone he came into contact with, his words like a song as they flowed around the room, capturing and _captivating_ everyone under his spell. The way he questioned the witnesses, spoke to the jury—it made Jaskier fawn as if Geralt were a celebrity and not his very sexy co-worker. 

For a man of very few words in everyday interaction, his sentences sure did seem to come to him as easily as breathing when he argued his cases.

And when he won? Well, Jaskier had decided he needed to let him know. The realization struck him like a gut punch and this crush of his was getting too out of hand. It was getting in the way of his well thought system, and he wouldn’t allow himself to pretend anymore, no. He’d never been someone to hide behind pretenses anyway, always opting to be truthful with everyone he cared for. Still, for some reason telling Geralt gave him pause, like this was going to drastically change everything.

It probably will. Hopefully for the better because Jaskier doesn’t think he’ll survive Geralt’s rejection. He may have to quit this job on principle if that’s the case.

He really liked this job.

Jaskier found Geralt on the balcony attached to his office, his prior hesitant resolve now clear and insistent. He needed to tell the other man how he felt and let this go—move on. He couldn’t continue chasing after him if all he got in return was the bare minimum. 

They were friends, no matter how much Geralt denied it, but Jaskier wanted more. 

He whistled as he entered the office to announce his presence, Geralt’s head barely flinching at the intrusion, his back still to Jaskier. His hair looked almost silver with the moonlight beaming down on him, the lights and flames of Novigrad twinkling in the distance the background to this man’s stature. 

“Being a loner again, huh?” Jaskier asked, not bothering to wait for an answer. “Well, aren’t you glad I stayed behind as well? We can—”

“Jaskier,” Geralt cut him off, turning halfway to look at him. His eyes seemed to shine as they bored into Jaskier’s, his hand clenched around a glass of—well, some sort of alcohol. Whisky, if he had to hazard a guess. “What do you want?”

 _You_ , his traitorous mouth almost said. _Always seems to be you these days. Anything you’ll give me._

“Can’t a man keep his very best friend company? Congratulate him on his spectacular win?” He settled, moving to Geralt’s side. 

“We’re not friends.”

“Aren’t we though, o White Wolf?” 

“You know a nickname my brothers gave me when I started fixing my hair,” Geralt said. “That doesn’t make us friends.”

Jaskier scoffed. “Oh, really. I think you’re chatting bullshit.”

“Maybe,” Geralt tilted his head, giving him a small tight-lipped smile. “Maybe not.”

Jaskier swallowed. Perhaps he should have poured himself a drink; a little bit of liquid courage could go a long way.

“Ah, well, here’s the thing,” Jaskier couldn’t hold Geralt’s eye contact, the coward in him too afraid of the rejection. He cleared his throat, watching the lights of the city dance in the distance. “I won’t take up too much of your time, Geralt, so no need to make your grouchy faces at me. You’ll be able to go back to your depressing and lackluster main character moment in a second.” A soft chuckle beside him caused him to stumble on his words, not having expected it. “It’s just that this is actually quite hard for me to talk about.”

“Hm, that’s hard to believe.” Geralt sighed. “Do you need help with a case?”

“What? No. No, my dear—” Jaskier cringed. Not off to a good start. “Oh, fuck it. Geralt, I have feelings for you. _Real_ feelings before you interrupt with something superfluous. I didn’t think it would happen, seeing as I know you don’t feel the same and never will, but I digress. I’m not you, I can’t assume your—”

Geralt shifting out of the corner of his eye made him stop rambling. “You’re right.”

“Oh, well,” Jaskier tried not to sound too hurt, his heart tearing in half at the admission. “Of course I am. You barely like me.”

“Not what I meant.” Geralt took a gulp of his drink. Jaskier watched his throat work, wanting to kiss the hollow of it—or better yet, to taste the drink on his tongue. He tore his eyes away. “I meant that you’re right, you can’t assume.”

“Uh, okay… mate. I’m not following.” 

Geralt’s lips twitched. “I do like you, Jas.”

“You do?” Jaskier doesn’t focus on the nickname, won’t let himself focus on it. “You know, there’s a vast difference between liking me as a person and the way you surely must have realized I desire you. Gods, please tell me you aren’t blind to what’s right in front of you.”

“You’ve always made that notion clear with your constant flirting, don’t worry,” Geralt explained, like it’s the simplest thing in the world and not a complete paradox to what Jaskier was used to hearing. He moved closer, into Jaskier’s personal space, stealing his air. “I didn’t know you’d be so fucking relentless about it.”

“Ah, see, this is the whole point of this conversation. I can stop. I _will_ stop,” Jaskier gulped down the sour taste in his mouth, his mouth dry as if he’d eaten sand. “Just say the word. I value our friendship too much to ruin it because of this—this trivial thing.” 

“Your feelings aren’t trivial. Not to me.”

“Ah. Well. Thank you?”

“I’ve seen you give closing statements that overcome the jury _and_ judge with emotions,” Geralt moved his free hand to Jaskier’s neck, gently caressing. Jaskier was sure he could feel how hard his heart was beating, how he’s sweating. “And this is all you can say to me?” His thumb moves along Jaskier’s jawline, softened amber eyes never leaving his. “Strange. So unlike you.”

“Give me a _break_ , Geralt. I’m trying to process what’s happening and you’re not exactly a paragon of helpfulness,” Jaskier whined and with a gust of courage, leaned forward so that their noses brushed. “Be more specific. What is it that you want, then?”

And Geralt smiled that beatific smile of his, lowly said, “You already know the answer to that, songbird,” and kissed him. 


	2. new beginnings

It’s a Monday morning when Julian Pankratz meets Yennefer Vengerberg. 

Evidently, he knows nothing good ever happens at the beginning of the week, ever, and he should have just allowed himself to lay in a pit of despair in his too big, currently half-unoccupied bed. The internal battle to get out of the damned spacious thing alone should have tipped Jaskier off on what kind of day he would have, but he’s an optimist; an _opportunist_. He tries to make the best of his situations and if, by some unknown miracle, he sees a way to make his day better, he’ll take it.

He’s barely on time for the weekly staff meeting, the conference room already filled with the best attorneys in all of Redania mingling amongst themselves, casual conversations flowing. He catches several threads of information in his two seconds being in the room: what some did over their weekend, a case about a child of elven descent being discriminated against, something about an old employee being back and a murder that Jaskier hopes is completely unrelated to the employee topic. 

He’s got different things on his mind, his eyes scanning the room expectantly. Naturally, he zeroes in on Geralt already seated and waiting, his hand tapping his pen against his stack of papers. It’s a nervous tick; Jaskier wants to go over and ask him what he’s worried about, to offer comfort, but a hand on his forearm stops him. 

“You’re lucky Vesemir isn’t here yet,” Triss says, a light scolding in her voice. “You know he would have started the meeting by now and he hates it when you walk in late.” 

“Good morning to you too, darling,” Jaskier replies, barely flinching at the truth in her statement. “Don’t worry about me. We’ve already established that I’ve got qualified immunity now.” 

He grins when she scoffs in mock disgust. 

He knows that Vesemir has a strict policy here; there’s a reason why _Rivia, De Vries & An Craite _ is one of the most prestigious firms on the Continent. Jaskier had first met Vesemir after he won a case about wrongful embezzlement—it was a hard case to crack, given the defendant actually _did_ take a large sum of money from the company he’d been working for, but Jaskier had managed to get him out of it, defending the ballsy client’s actions as he would anyone else. Slipping unreasonable doubt into the jury’s minds was easier said than done, but Vesemir had been more than impressed with his performance; he offered him a job on the spot. 

Jaskier gave his two weeks notice to his old firm the next day. He’d have been a fool not to with the work and pay he’d be getting. It’s as though destiny herself pushed him toward this firm, had whispered sweet praises and affirmations about it, and then, as if to add a cherry on the top of his beautiful, tasteful sundae, he met Geralt Rivia. 

“At least you didn't walk in with _The Chameleon_ ’s overpriced coffee again.” Triss hums, holding out a mug for him. “Here. I took the time to make this day a little better for you.”

“Aw, Triss, you’ve gone soft for me.” Jaskier teases, but takes the mug with a tired, but no less grateful smile, shifting his folder to his left arm. “Thanks. What’s so bad about my day, hm?”

“I don’t know yet, but there’s always something with you.” Triss replies with a knowing glint in her eyes, shrugging one shoulder. Her red hair falls into her eyes before she brushes it back behind her ears. 

Without waiting for Jaskier to so much as utter another word to her, she moves to take a seat, obviously done with their ominous conversation. 

Jaskier narrows his eyes at her back, then sips cautiously at his coffee. As if his microscopic sip would stop him from dying in the unlikely event that it’s poisoned; sometimes he doesn’t even know why he bothers. 

Triss, even weirder than that, didn’t even comment on him calling her soft—something is definitely up. Maybe Geralt knows what it is, that smart observative man. 

As he weaves his way around people to get to Geralt, he notices someone’s things in the chair next to his. Usually that wouldn’t bother him, but it’s _his_ seat. There are rules to abide by at this firm and not taking Jaskier’s seat is one of them, everyone knows that by now. Anywhere Geralt sits, Jaskier is on his right. Simple.

Geralt, in true cavalier fashion, is motionless as a scarecrow, only sharing nods of acknowledgement with people talking to him directly. In retrospect, that’s not as odd as any other day, but it’s Geralt’s fidgeting and the strange looks Jaskier is getting thrown at him that tips him sideways into uncharted territory. 

Jaskier takes the folder with the _YV_ initials in the upper corner and the blue pen lying on top of it and tosses it to Geralt’s other side. Whoever took his spot should have expected this kind of pettiness from him anyway, so no hard feelings. He plops down on the swivel chair as the pen drops off the folder and onto the conference table with a loud _thwack_. It shouldn’t make Jaskier’s entire body burn when Geralt’s piercing honeyed gaze lands on him, but he can’t help it. The attraction he has for him is unparalleled; no one else can compare, ever. 

And though they needed space sometimes, he had missed him this weekend.

“Okay, what is going on with everyone today?” Jaskier demands by way of greeting. There are still eyes on them and any other day he’d thrive on the attention, but right now he feels a little like the source of a joke. “Why are people staring at us like we’re a fascinating, never-before-seen exhibit at a museum? We didn’t get caught doing something sexual at work that I sadly forgot about, did I?” Jaskier pauses, looking to the side in horror. “Do I have early on-set Alzheimer's?”

Geralt opens his mouth to answer, but someone else beats him to it. “You’re in my seat.”

Both of them start at the voice, Geralt’s previous amusement fading away like it was never there to begin with. Jaskier gives him an odd look, but Geralt pointedly avoids his eyes now. _So_ weird.

Jaskier turns toward the person who is clearly causing Geralt problems and is met with a dark haired woman whose beauty undoubtedly would be unfair in any other setting. If Jaskier weren’t already in a relationship, for example, he’d possibly consider flirting with her. Maybe. He’ll have to conduct further research on that before sticking to it wholeheartedly. 

She’s got her arms crossed over a well-tailored gray suit jacket, fingers manicured and painted a dark, shimmering black. Her eyes are narrowed, daggers being thrown in his direction in an attempt to murder him; the more he stares unflinchingly at her, the more unsure he is on if she’s wearing coloured contacts or not. Eyes can’t be the darkest shade of violet can they? Maybe he’s developing some form of colorblindness, too—he makes a mental note to contact his optometrist in the future. 

He’s known this woman all of thirty seconds and he's already questioning his life. Jaskier can’t tell if he likes that or not yet. 

“Am I?” Jaskier raises an eyebrow in question.

“You must have Alzheimer’s. My things were right there.” 

Scratch that—Jaskier decidedly hates her. 

“Ah, I don’t think so. I think you must have carelessly set them over there,” Jaskier points to her things that he had unceremoniously thrown to the side. “Without realizing. Don’t worry your pretty little head off, love, it happens to all of us. Alzheimer’s victims included, obviously.” 

She doesn’t even look at her things, or further react to his jab, she just continues glaring at him. Does she think he’ll shrink and cower away from her? It’s a high possibility actually—she has the aura of someone who knows exactly how to get away with murder.

“Yenn—”

“I’m not talking to you, Geralt.” She snaps, her cold eyes flicking over to him for a second before settling back on Jaskier. Oh, holy shit. He’s never seen anyone talk to Geralt like that, save angry clients who couldn’t handle his blasé replies. 

Jaskier is rethinking his prior assessment. He kind of wants to be friends with her now. 

“You know this woman?” Jaskier turns his gaze back to Geralt who is still trying not to pay attention to him. His eyes are glued on the beautiful, threatening woman next to Jaskier. He doesn’t even bother keeping the disappointment out of his voice. “Of course you know this woman.” 

She seems to sneer at that. “He most definitely does not.” 

“Alright, hold on, I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot,” Jaskier reaches a hand out, smiling at her in the hopes of charming her a _little_. It worked on Geralt eventually, so why not? “Julian Alfred Pankratz, at you—”

“Julian is enough.” She replies curtly, ignoring his outstretched hand. Well, clearly she hates him as much as he hates her. Okay. That’s fine. This is fine. “Yennefer Vengerberg.” 

“Yennefer is enough,” Jaskier mocks, dropping his hand. “Actually, that’s a mouthful. Can I call you Yenn or is that reserved for people who actually like you?”

“Yennefer!” Tissaia calls just as Vesemir enters the conference room; two of their bosses in the same spot always means trouble. She waves Yennefer over, and Geralt stays silent, watching her with uncharacteristic confusion on his otherwise cool poker face.

Yennefer walks over to pick up her things. Before she goes to join Tissaia at the other side of the table, she pauses beside Jaskier, placing a hand on the table, palm down, no doubt trying to intimidate him. 

“I should probably let you know before you embarrass yourself further,” Yennefer says mostly to herself and it may even come off as thoughtful if Jaskier weren’t so confused. She comes to a resolve, leaning on her hand. “I outrank you.” 

Geralt places a hand on Jaskier’s forearm to stop him, his reflexes quicker than Jaskier expected; he already knows what’s going to undoubtedly happen, but Jaskier can’t keep his mouth shut if he tries. 

“Oh, do you? It’s a good thing I’m _such_ a slut for authority.” 

—

“First order of business,” Tissaia stands at the head of the conference table. She gestures elegantly with one hand to Yennefer sitting nearby. “Everyone, give a warm welcome back to Yennefer Vengerberg.” 

“Thank you—” Yennefer starts to say.

Jaskier leans in closer to Geralt, whispering, “Welcome _back_?” 

Geralt sends him a glare. Sweet Melitele, okay, there’s a story there, and Jaskier is going to figure it out one way or another.

“—I’m happy to be back.”

“Second order of business is the two new trials we’ve just been given this morning,” Vesemir continues, standing next to Tissaia. “Eskel, are you free to do the civil case? A woman wants to sue her ex-husband for defamation. They’re divorced and teach at the same school. She’s in the reception area now.” 

“Consider it done.” Eskel agrees, taking the folder from Vesemir. 

“I'll second chair the case.” Lambert says from the seat beside him. Eskel turns an incredulous frown his way. “What? I have nothing to do today.”

Vesemir sighs. “Fine, just get it done. Third, the homicide—”

Jaskier lifts his hand up before Vesemir is even done speaking. “I’ll do it.” 

Every head turns toward him in a mixture of awe and confusion. Jaskier is used to both of those looks being thrown his way so he doesn’t flinch or waver.

“Julian, criminal justice isn’t your field of expertise.” Vesemir replies evenly, a challenging glare set on him. Jaskier doesn’t turn away, his mentor never really intimidated him that much anyway. 

Except when he started dating his son. Vesemir had become much more scary after that. But luckily for him, Vesemir and Geralt have the same response to his jabbering—he’s immune to the Rivia glare.

“I know, I know, but I’ve been stuck doing the boring civil stuff,” Jaskier doesn’t allow the whine to sneak into his voice, but he sees Geralt smirk from the corner of his eye. Bastard. “I’ve done enough criminal cases that it would be gratuitous to keep me off this because I haven’t got much experience with _murder_ necessarily. Besides, I need this excitement in my life lest I decide to stab someone out of boredom myself. That someone, might I add, regretfully being your insolent son. Let me do it, please.” 

“Very well—”

“I’ll second chair for Julian,” Yennefer offers. The humming of the AC loudly thrums around the room before she adds, “I know criminal law. I can help him if the need arises.” 

Everyone seems to stop all movement, the conference room going still as a picture, a monumental moment captured in time; eyes are on both Jaskier and Geralt, but shifting between them and Yennefer in anticipation.

“How incredibly kind of you,” Jaskier says, ignoring everyone’s stares. He’s always liked having people’s eyes on him while he talked; it’s why he became a lawyer. “And here I thought you were empty of empathetic emotions.” 

To his surprise, Yennefer smiles. “Don’t insult me like that,” she raises a perfectly arched eyebrow critically. “And you should definitely work on your alliterations.”

Ouch. Hit him where it hurts.

“Oh, I’m so terribly sorry. You’re right, contempt looks so much better on you.” Jaskier nods and lifts his coffee mug in a mock salute. 

“Does he know?” Lambert stage whispers to Eskel, who shakes his head. Someone covers a laugh with a cough—it sounds an awful lot like Shani. Jaskier glares at her perfectly styled ginger head, conveniently turned away from him.

“Shut up.” Geralt hisses at them, finally speaking up.

Jaskier startles, glad to see the other man isn’t broken after seeing a beautiful woman. Though, of course, Geralt hadn’t been speechless when he’d met Jaskier, so that was something to store in his head for another time. Their next fight, actually, which will happen the second he can corner Geralt somewhere.

“Alright, I’ll allow it,” Vesemir decides over the bickering and whispering of gossip Jaskier doesn’t understand. He hands the folder to Yennefer since she’s closest to him—not because she’s better than him. “Your client will meet you here today, whenever you’re both available. You’re due to be in court tomorrow at noon for opening statements. It doesn’t give you a lot of time to prepare, but you’ll have to make do with it.”

“What kind of person are we defending, actually?” Jaskier winces at how annoyed he sounds, then clears his throat. “I always hated defending rapists and—well, you know. I got into a fight with that one guy and got held in contempt for trying to gouge his eye out with my kn—”

Vesemir silences him with a long suffering look. He speaks when he’s sure Jaskier isn’t going to interrupt him. “The beast of Beauclair.”

“No bloody way,” Cerys says, her hand dropping to the table with a loud bang. Her eyes are wide, as if she can’t quite believe what she’s heard. “ _The_ beast of Beauclair?” 

“Is there another beast of Beauclair lurking about?” Lambert snarks. Eskel and Cerys both smack him in the shoulder. 

“The publicity around this case will be amazing for the firm. A master poisoner!” Triss can’t contain her excitement, leaning forward on her elbows. “Some people think he was cursed as a child.”

Eskel shakes his head. “Curses don’t exist. He just knows how to kill someone really efficiently without leaving much evidence around.”

“That’s the thing that doesn’t add up. He ended up stabbing her once in the chest, but no one knows what happened to the knife he used. The police say it vanished.” Shani sighs, the regret of not being the one asked to take this case obvious. 

“Oh, fuck the police,” Cerys says. A few snickers fill the room. “Bunch of eternal fire arseholes. They probably hid the evidence so that this man could get off without a sentence. Bribery will get you anything, as they say.”

Geralt stiffens next to him, brows furrowing. “That’s not—”

“Enough.” Vesemir raises his voice, his face looking like he’s aged fifty years in the last ten minutes. “This isn’t _our_ case. It’s Julian and Yennefer’s case.”

They settle down, despite Jaskier still being a little confused. He’s banned from Toussaint for some well established reasons, so he isn’t aware of the… murders that happen there. Doesn’t really pay attention to them, really.

“Lastly, but not the least important—we need to talk about the etiquette of this firm.” Tissaia crosses her arms over her chest in disapproval.

Everyone starts to pack up before the lecture can start.

—

Yennefer told him to meet her in her office, but see, Jaskier doesn’t know where that is. 

It’s not his fault he never knew she worked here before. He only got here a year and a half ago himself, people must have come and gone all the time. Most times, it’s not a big deal, but with Yennefer a cloud of mystery seems to follow her and by default, it extends towards Jaskier for some odd reason. 

He corners Lambert about it, sneaking up behind him in the right wing hallway. “What were you implying back at the meeting?”

“Whoa now,” Lambert glares, placing a hand on Jaskier’s chest to push him back. “Don’t come up to me like that. I almost elbowed you in the face.”

“My deepest apologies, it won’t happen again.” Jaskier swears. He crosses his heart for extra effect, the Rivia glare still doing absolutely nothing to him. “Will you answer my question? I do have to work on a homicide case, you know.”

Lambert seems to pause, unsure, his mouth setting into a grim line. “Listen, it’s not my piece to tell.”

“Well, it seems like everyone here already knows about it except me,” Jaskier complains, waving a hand around them. “How is that fair?”

“It’s funny how you think that makes me feel bad for you.” Lambert says. “I’m not Geralt, I don’t care if you feel left out. Though, hey, I would strongly suggest you ask him about it before anyone else.”

“What the hell does that mean—” Jaskier cuts himself off, eyes narrowing darkly. “Is that scamp cheating on me?”

Lambert bursts out laughing, and Jaskier has the overwhelming urge to throttle him. “ _No_. What the fuck? How is that the first thing you think of?” 

“I don’t know, maybe because your vague warning implied it?” Jaskier feels people staring again. Gods damn it. He turns, already walking away. “You’re a prick.” 

“Good luck, _Julian_.” Lambert croons behind him, mocking his every step. Jaskier bristles, lifting a specific finger over his shoulder and hating the fact Lambert of all people got a rise out of him.

The reality of the matter is that Jaskier is usually on top of the office gossip. People tend to come to him to know what’s happening because he knows everyone enough and talks to them enough to get important tidbits of information from them—that, and the fact that Jaskier creates the drama for himself on a daily basis. He’s impulsive, theatrical, and has zero filter when it comes to casual conversation. It’s why Jalmar An Craite wants him to be fired, but everyone denies his motion due to his success in the courtroom; no one can say he’s not damn good at his job. 

But here and now? Jaskier doesn’t know what’s going on while everyone around him does. It’s upsetting and different, and he very well may be sulking while walking down a hallway where he thinks Yennefer’s office may be. 

Then he _hears_ it; the telltale sign of an argument brewing. Perhaps even one that has the answer to what he wants to desperately know. 

“Do you want help with this case?” Geralt asks, his hands gripping onto his papers. “I know Dettlaff. He’s, uh… friends with Regis.”

Well, that explains his disapproval with everyone earlier.

“Thanks, but I’m perfectly capable of doing this on my own.” Yennefer replies, skimming through a book on moral ethics. There’s a metaphor hidden in this moment that Jaskier refuses to look too much into. She tosses a stray strand of hair over her shoulder as she reads. 

Jaskier stops a few feet away, listening in on the conversation. He catches the eye of a first year associate—Renfri Creyden, she’s helped him once or twice—also eavesdropping, and they both avert their eyes. This is fine, he’s just gonna… look through his files. Yeah. That’s what he’s doing. Like any other normal lawyer would.

“I _know_ that,” Geralt agrees. “But I can give you insight on your client—”

“Julian and I will do this. Alone. Without your help.” 

Geralt clenches his jaw from what Jaskier can see from the corner of his eye. Jaskier knows he’s going to snap soon. “Why are you so against me helping you?” 

“I don’t need your help,” Yennefer repeats slowly, like Geralt is stupid and not one of the best lawyers here. “I’m sure Julian is a good enough lawyer to handle this with me.” 

“It doesn’t matter how great of a lawyer he is. It’s not a liability to have an extra opinion, Yenn.” Geralt shifts on his feet, his throat moving as he swallows. “I know that’s what you think and—”

“Don’t call me that.” Yennefer snaps, her dark eyes narrowed to accusatory slits. She jabs a finger into his chest angrily. “Let’s get one thing straight, you don’t know me anymore. Do not put words in my mouth.” 

“Wait a second,” Jaskier blurts before he can stop himself, his mind reeling. Their heads turn towards him almost as quickly as his next words leave his mouth. “Oh, bollocks. You two have had sex.”

—

“ _You_.” Jaskier all but growls out, barging into Vesemir’s office without a care. “You knew. You knew they had dated and you still put me on a case with _Yennefer_!”

Vesemir is sitting behind his desk, staring back with an unimpressed raise of his brow. “I had thought you already knew with the hostility you two showed in the conference room.”

“You’re a traitor, I hope you know that.” Jaskier stands at the head of his desk, hands planted firmly on his hips. “A filthy, no good, asinine traitor. The only way you’ll get back into my good graces is if you take her off this case.” 

“You’re not serious.” 

“I am! I can do this on my own. Vesemir, Geralt da—”

“Stop,” Vesemir speaks over him. Jaskier may be angry, but this is still his boss, so he listens even if it physically pains him to do so. “I do not want to know, do you hear me? I _tolerate_ you and Geralt at best, even when I warned him about having another dalliance with someone from work again.”

“And at worst?” Jaskier asks quietly, ignoring the jab. 

“At worst, I contemplate firing you for negligence of using proper conduct in a work environment.” Vesemir snaps. He levels his gaze at Jaskier, and he sees the truth in the statement. He must let the hurt show on his face because Vesemir sighs. “I like you, Jaskier. You know I do. You’re one of the best lawyers this firm has to offer.”

“But?” 

“But you won’t be able to avoid Yennefer. She’ll be up for partner soon. This immature need to seem better than her because of something so insignificant is unbecoming.” 

“She’ll be—wait, let me get this straight,” Jaskier sits down in one of the seats at the front of the desk. “She’s up for partner before _me_? She just got back!” 

“Julian, you’ll never be up for partner.” 

_Ah. Back to calling me Julian,_ Jaskier thinks. _Two steps forward, three steps back._

“Oh, right. Of course. I almost forgot that everyone hates me for talking too much. For,” He lifts his fingers to mimic air quotes. “‘Having unconventional means of getting things done.’ I stab a guy _one time_ because I feared for my life and suddenly I’m blacklisted by two thirds of the named partners.”

Jaskier doesn’t know why he has a deep rooted feeling of betrayal nestling in his chest; he doesn’t even want to be a partner of the firm. He’s never even thought about it before this moment, this very second. Yennefer Vengerberg has been here all of a few hours, and she’s already gotten under his skin. He’s impressed, to say the least. 

“Well, yes.” Vesemir leans back, pleased with Jaskier’s deductive skills. It’s not rocket science, he wants to snap. Not many people like him. “And you and I both know you didn’t fear for your life. You just wanted to do it because you’re insufferable when it comes to certain clients. In any case, those particular qualities are also what got you the job at this firm.” 

“Mhm, okay, right,” Jaskier gets up to leave. He’s lost this battle; Vesemir is almost as stubborn as Geralt. “What I’m hearing is that I’m stuck in this extremely awkward and unprecedented situation because everyone at this bloody firm failed to inform me that my boyfriend dated the wicked witch of the East.”

“I always admired your fiery passion, Jaskier. Truly, it’s endearing,” Vesemir says, an amused glint in his eyes. “But get over it.”

Vesemir, for all his secrecy, has always been what Jaskier would deem a great man. He’s always, since the day he recruited him, treated Jaskier with the respect that most of the other named partners roll their eyes at; they come to him for advice sometimes, sure, but they don't _enjoy_ asking for it. Vesemir made a point in doing so, and in turn, as Jaskier’s mentor, he often gave him advice right back. 

Dare he say it, Vesemir is more of a father figure to him than his actual father ever was.

Jaskier makes sure he’s already out the door when he mutters, “Yeah, yeah.”

—

They review the case as they wait for their client to come in. 

It’s tense and awkward, but Jaskier tries to blame it on the fact that he’s just not having a good day. Geralt’s been avoiding him since Jaskier figured out what was going on—or maybe it’s the other way around, Jaskier isn’t sure. What he is sure of is that his usual cohesion and eloquence when presenting a case and his findings on said case to another person understandably proved to be much more difficult than he thought it would be under the scrutiny of Yennefer’s own analysis of the case. 

“He had a motive.” Yennefer says, pointing to a document they’d both been over a hundred times in twenty minutes. “He knew she was having an affair. He knew she was lying to him.”

“Yes, yes, yes. However, motive or not, Dettlaff has an alibi. He was with his dear friend Regis.” 

“It won’t matter that they were out in the vineyard and not in the actual house. This alone won’t be enough to appease the jury.”

“Well, no, of course we’ll call in witnesses and—” Jaskier pauses his pacing, turning to look at Yennefer. 

She huffs an annoyed breath at his silence, urging him to get on with it with a quirk of her brow. “Well?”

“Do you think he did it?”

“What an absurd question,” She snaps. Jaskier blinks, not seeing her point. It was a valid and sound question; even he was on the fence on if they were defending someone truly innocent or not. “I don’t even know our client. How am I supposed to judge?”

“You’ve got functioning eyes and ears,” Jaskier says, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m sure you’ve seen the news. Does he act like someone who is innocent or guilty to you?”

Yennefer sighs, then gestures for him to sit. He doesn’t, not out of spite, but because he did his best thinking while active. Pacing, notably. 

“Alright. That’s _it_. I’ve had enough of this.” 

“And what is ‘this’ exactly?” Jaskier says.

He didn’t want to talk about anything other than the case because it’s not like they had much time to think and brainstorm ideas before their client arrives, but now he’s curious. 

“That’s enough pandering around the real issue here, Julian.” Yennefer drawls with an air of someone who’s had this conversation with people multiple times. “Let’s get this over with before this affects the case. I don’t _care_ that you’re with Geralt because frankly, he and I broke up for a reason. You have nothing to worry about from me.” 

Jaskier almost laughs, pressing his lips together to stop himself. 

“I’m not worried Geralt will leave me for you,” Jaskier assures her. He’s never had a problem with oversharing, so why the hell would he start now? “I’ll have you know I’m fantastic, both in the romance and sex department, thank you very much.”

“I didn’t need those details.”

“Nevertheless, what I’m worried about is how this will affect him in the long run.” Jaskier continues as if Yennefer hadn’t interrupted. “And truthfully, I don’t like you because first impressions are very important, and we botched ours to Nilfgaard and back.”

“Geralt will be fine. Besides, that botched first meeting was entirely your fault, Julian.” Yennefer rolls her eyes at the offended sound Jaskier makes. 

“It was _not_ , you—you—” Jaskier can’t even find the words. This is a first. He remembers Vesemir telling him, _warning_ him, she’ll be up for partner soon and takes a breath. “Okay. Truce. We’re both adults. We can put this behind us and get on with it, can’t we?”

“I don’t know, _can_ we?” 

“Yennefer, while I appreciate a woman with the amount of sass and prowess you predominantly exude, I really would prefer a straightforward answer right now.”

Yennefer snorts, then holds her hands up to stop his next words. “Yeah, okay. We can move on, _Jaskier_.” 

“Well,” Jaskier grins, surprised and more or less acquiesced, the tightly coiled tension in his shoulders sinking away as he relaxes into his seat. “That’s a start, I think. Jaskier, at your service.” 

“Still Yennefer, fortunately. Don’t even _think_ about starting any nicknames with me. I’ll have you killed before it even leaves your mouth.” She warns, her voice very, very serious. Jaskier’s grin widens. “Now, back to the case.” 

“Simply put, Yenna,” Jaskier says, unwavering when she clenches her jaw and glares. “We slip unreasonable doubt into the heads of the jury. Don’t worry, I’m quite renowned at that.”

**Author's Note:**

> please feel free to leave kudos or if you’re feeling extra generous, drop a comment!! tell me what you like, what you don’t like, even keyboard smash if you have nothing else to say, I’d probably pass out from excitement. 
> 
> Sending love and health to y’all during these shitty times. Stay safe x


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